


Thereby Hangs a Tale

by Attaquecardiaque, chivalryandgreentea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, As You Like It AU, Badass Cosette, Crossdressing, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Humor, Nobility, Past Child Abuse, References to Shakespeare, creative license taken with elizabethan language for clarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaquecardiaque/pseuds/Attaquecardiaque, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chivalryandgreentea/pseuds/chivalryandgreentea
Summary: When Duke Ultime mysteriously disappears late one night, Lady Cosette decides to make the journey through the Forest of Arden to bring her father back to court and prevent the corrupt Thenard from taking over.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent & Jean Valjean, Cosette Fauchelevent & Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Mabeuf & Marius Pontmercy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9
Collections: Les Mis Big Bang: Quarantine Edition





	Thereby Hangs a Tale

Cosette awoke just before dawn to the sound of angry voices outside. She paid no heed when her hand knocked the water glass on her bedside table and sent it crashing to the ground as Cosette jumped out of bed. She stumbled to the window, her eyes still heavy with sleep, to see two tall shadowy figures in the courtyard below. 

Their heads were bowed low in conversation, and as Cosette watched them the sight of an almost familiar thin and slightly stooped figure sent a chill running down her spine. She pressed her face against the window to try and better make out the faces below in the dark, when one of the men looked up. 

The cold glitter in his eyes was visible even to Cosette in her bedroom of the second level of Arden Castle, the duchy of her father. Those eyes were framed by a thick and fierce set of sideburns, and the gaze of that man, the taller of the two and standing straight as a rod, instilled an instinctive fear in Cosette that she had not known for many years. Her breaths short and fast, she flung herself away from the window, curling herself against the wall and trying to understand what was happening. There was someone out there that she knew from ages past, someone with whom no good memories could be associated. 

“Cosette.”

The whisper came from across the room, and Cosette jerked her head up, fearing she would see one of the men below coming to take her away. But her fears evaporated with the sight of her father’s head of brilliant white hair, and the face creased with lines from years of worry and smiles. 

“Papa? What is happening?”

“You have nothing to fear, little one,” her father said calmly. “They are not here for you. I must away on a journey to the Forest of Arden.”

Cosette tried to understand what he was saying, but she could only helplessly shake her head at a loss as she furrowed her brow, waiting for what surely would be a better explanation as to why he was leaving her alone. It didn’t come. 

“Return to bed, Cosette,” Cosette heard him say, and, as if in a trance, she was led back to her bed and tucked beneath the covers as a child would have been. 

She felt the press of his lips upon her forehead and felt a slight disturbance under her pillow. The sudden sounds of shouting and horses galloping on cobblestones faded in her ears as she succumbed once more to the dark embrace of sleep. 

* * *

She woke again later by the natural light streaming in through the lacy drapes at her window and the gentle singing of birds outside. As she rose, Cosette started at the realization of how late in the day it was - it was already some time in the afternoon. Her father would have finished his daily walk now, and would be coming in to take his tea. 

It was only as she prepared to ring the bell for her handmaid to help her dress that Cosette remembered the events of the night. Tall men in the shadows, a kiss pressed to her forehead - and her father was gone. 

Cosette sat on the window-seat, her legs curled up under her as she stared out the window, half-heartedly humming a tune that had once been a favorite, but now was only another painful reminder of what was lost. Or, rather, _who_ was lost. A lark was perched outside her window, pecking at something on the ledge. When it sensed Cosette’s gaze on it, it let out a cry of alarm and took flight. For a moment, Cosette longed to follow it into the sky, free and unburdened of her troubles.

“ - ought’ve shut the door, then,” a rough yet girlish voice said in a chastising tone near Cosette. With a start, Cosette whirled around to face the newcomer, a servant girl around Cosette’s age. 

The girl seemed to only then realize Cosette was in the room, as indicated by the faint blush that spread across her sickly pale face upon meeting Cosette’s eyes. There was a brief moment of silence as Cosette furiously wiped at her face and blinked to dispel the tears that had risen through her lament. 

“Eponine?” Cosette asked tentatively, sending a quick prayer to the heavens that she had remembered the girl’s name correctly. 

“‘Apologies, milady,” the girl said slowly with a nod, a sudden hint of curiosity threaded into her voice, “I did not think to find you here, so late in the day as it is.” Cosette only nodded, her throat tight, wishing she could be alone again. The moment Eponine looked as though she would leave, she frowned and grudgingly asked Cosette, “What troubles, you, milady?”

Cosette drew a long, trembling breath, summoning the strength to hold back tears once more. “My father, Duke Ultime, has gone.” 

Eponine waited expectantly. “Is that all?”

“All?” Cosette asked, bewildered and a little hurt. “Is it some small thing for one’s father to disappear in the night with no explanation? I worry for his safety. Have not I the right to be upset?” 

“Perhaps,” Eponine replied grudgingly, “it is no small thing to you. I cannot imagine missing my father the way you do yours.” Eponine grinned crookedly, an unsettling accessory to the grim words that did little to lighten Cosette’s mood. 

Cosette felt a warmth spread down the back of her neck as she looked away; she’d hardly even noticed Eponine’s thin and ill-fitting drab clothing covered with patches that looked as though they’d been mended many times over, or the way Eponine’s cheekbones were unnaturally sharp against the rest of her features. For the moment she felt selfish for her own troubles, painful as they were; both guilt and anguish now ruled her senses. 

Eponine must have noticed Cosette’s further darkened mood, because she said a moment later, “There’s a wrestling match due to take place in an hour, milady. Perhaps it would do you good to forget your woes for a while.”

Cosette was about to say no until she thought, what other choice did she have? She could wile the rest of the day in her room, waiting to hear news of her father, or she could go out and get it for herself.

“Will Duke Fauchelevent be there?”

Eponine hesitated, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Do you mean Duke Thenard?” Her voice, rough and playful throughout their entire conversation, now was cautious and uneasy. 

Cosette felt her blood run cold at the mention of that name. Her breathing quickened, and suddenly the resurgence of cold, cruel voices in her memory made her shiver and she refrained from crying out. “Thenard?” She finally repeated, the name cold and metallic on her tongue. 

Eponine nodded. “Since you have been shut away here, milady, I suppose you won’t have heard. Duke Fauchelevent died last night in his sleep. Some say…” Eponine leaned in conspiratorily, flashing that crooked smile again, “it was a dirty business. _Murder_. But the cook says it’s all gossip. With your father having disappeared, Baron Thenard took over the duchy.”

Cosette was glad to be already seated, for upon hearing that name she felt she might swoon. _Thenard?_ The name was familiar, right there on the tip of her tongue and yet she could not quite remember what it was supposed to mean to her. Before she could think further on this, a complete understanding of Eponine’s words set in, and Cosette felt her stomach turn over. 

“Duke Fauchelevent? Dead?”

Cosette’s heart convulsed painfully in her chest at this piece of news, and she buried her face in her hands, trying to understand how so much could have happened overnight. Her whole world, it seemed, was being overturned. First her father disappeared with hardly more than a word to her in the middle of the night, now her uncle, the man who’d been a kind of second father to Cosette in her upbringing, was dead?

“Why did you come?” Cosette finally asked, trying to hide the resentment in her voice. If Eponine hadn’t come in, the terrible news would never have been known to her, and she would not be suffering as she was. But a moment later she regretted this thought and softened. “How may I be of use to you?”

Eponine looked at her with guarded curiosity. “I came to open your drapes and sweep the room, milady, as I always do this time of the day, and to tell you the Duke Thenard awaits your presence at the wrestling match.” She paused. “Will you be in attendance?”

Cosette cast one last longing look at the brilliant blue skies before rising from her seat.

“I will.”

* * *

“What troubles you today, Marius?” Père Mabeuf asked Marius that day, settled onto a tree stump, watching the younger man kick half-heartedly at a clump of moss behind his grandfather’s estate. Marius was even more solemn than usual: his curly black hair fell over one side of his face in a romantically brooding manner, and Marius’ usual drab grey or dark blue doublet was replaced with a black velvet one. Everything about his appearance suggested some form of mourning. 

Marius looked up at Père Mabeuf, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Worry not for me, old friend. It is just my usual grievance with my grandfather on my mind. His face is most unpleasant to me today.” 

Père Mabeuf considered this as Marius continued his abuse of the landscape. “I have been witness to many of the quarrels between you and your grandfather, Marius, but in truth I have never seen you so affected by one as you are now.”

“My father died last night.” 

Père Mabeuf was visibly startled. “Your father?”

“A messenger came on foot this morning to inform me that Georges Pontmercy was dead and that I had inherited his title of a baron. I feel it is reasonable to be upset, for until this morning I did not know my father was alive all these years at all. You know what my grandfather said each time I asked - that he was ‘dead, long dead, and good riddance.’” Marius stared bitterly at the ground.

“Indeed, it was wrong of your grandfather to keep your father from you all these years, Marius, and I told him you would want to know him -”

“You knew?” 

Père Mabeuf hesitated, his eyes containing such sorrow that Marius was unable to be angry for more than a moment before softening. “I had to swear an oath never to tell you, or I should not have been allowed in your company. Georges Pontmercy has been a good friend to me these long years past, and I hope it might give you some comfort to know he was a great man.”

Marius didn’t respond, but looked down as his throat tightened at the thought. For so many years the idea of any other sort of family beyond his grandfather’s harshness and Père Mabeuf’s companionship had been shut away like a cupboard in the back of his mind, because that was what his grandfather had told him to do. The ideas came flooding back all at once, accompanied by questions of longing. Was his father soft-spoken and gentle? Would he have taken care to listen to what Marius had to say? To Marius, Georges Pontmercy was everything his grandfather was not and could never be.

He was interrupted in his reverie by the voice of his cousin, Theodule. 

“Marius! Père Mabeuf, good day!” Theodule greeted them, sauntering in the scene with his usual easy, confident manner and decked out in his fashionable doublet and hose. His nonchalant manner was enhanced by his long, curled moustache, which he twirled in his fingers with a sense of ease and languor. 

Marius nodded his acknowledgement as Mabeuf gave Theodule a warmer, more affectionate greeting. After a languid smile in return, Theodule returned to Marius.

“So, cousin! How does your progress in your studies fare?”

Marius studied Theodule. He was far more eager to make meaningless conversation today than usual - the excitability in his voice would have convinced anyone else, but to Marius, who had hardly had more than a few words directed at him by Theodule in the past year, it sounded false.

“What has my grandfather sent you to say?”

Theodule stared at Marius for half a beat, then immediately heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, good, I told him you weren’t a fool.” He gave Marius a look that verged on apology before continuing. “I don’t suppose you might find it within your conscience to apologize to him?”

“No.”

“I thought so,” Theodule said, “though I cannot understand why you would not get it done and make it easier on yourself. He will revoke your allowance and any future income if you persist in refusing.”

Marius clenched his jaw. “I refuse to apologize.”

Theodule looked at Marius with a mixture of vague admiration, scorn, and doubt, but finally patted Marius’ shoulder and wished him luck. Marius returned to staring at the ground as Theodule took his leave, but Père Mabeuf watched Theodule’s retreating back until he was out of sight. He turned to Marius.

“Ah, worry not, my boy. You are always welcome to stay with me in my cottage. Come, I know what will bring you some cheer - the duke is hosting a wrestling match on his estate. Young men enjoy that sort of thing, don’t they?” 

Père Mabeuf’s kind face was too gentle and too hopeful to do right by Marius, and Marius couldn’t refuse the old man’s offer. He knew that on any other day Mabeuf’s ideal day would be spent on his hands and knees in the dirt, working on his precious garden, or spent at his desk making tweaks here and there to his book on the flora and fauna of Arden. 

Marius allowed himself to smile a little. “I suppose I might go see what the fuss about these games is.”

* * *

“Where is the other wrestler?” Eponine’s voice broke its way through Cosette’s thoughts, causing her to jump. Having been consumed by her own curiosity and fear regarding the new duke, who, as of yet, still had yet to make his appearance, Cosette had hardly taken notice as her own surroundings changed. The wide expanse of land preceding the forests beyond had been cleared for the wrestling platform, upon which a competitor was already pacing impatiently. Cosette began to pity the man who had to face this behemoth, whose biceps visibly bulged through his sleeves and whose enormous stature made the platform tremble with each impatient step. 

Still Cosette couldn’t summon any proper interest in the match. Her eyes roamed over the faces of the nobles and gentry who had come to watch the sport, looking for that face in the crowd who had somehow replaced both her father and uncle within a few hours. She had the sense that she would know it immediately on first sight. 

“Thither he is!” Eponine said, her eyes focused on a point just beyond the crowd. “That is him, is it not?”

At this curiosity got the better of Cosette, and she followed Eponine’s gaze to where a genteel young man was approaching over the hill. Even from far away Cosette noticed the handsome features written across a face that seemed too delicate and refined for such sport as this. As he neared, the contrast with the newcomer’s lithe frame next to the burly competitor on the platform was painfully stark. Cosette’s heart gave a twinge as she thought about the humiliation that would inevitably be served to the newcomer. She didn’t know if she could stand to watch this sport anymore, so unevenly matched as it was. 

A short, bald man with an especially pompous striped velvet doublet had taken his place in the middle of the platform, shouting to be heard over the din of the crowd. He saw the newcomer approaching the platform and shouted with relief, “Our challenger has arrived!” 

The newcomer shook his head violently and seemed as though he were arguing with the bald man. Cosette strained to hear what was passing between them, but she caught only glimpses of the newcomer’s suddenly pale face as the crowd around Cosette jostled her. 

“Your name?” The bald man asked the newcomer, loud enough for the rest of the crowd to hear. Silence fell as all waited to hear the name of the brave young man who’d come to challenge such a formidable opponent. 

He said something, but was so quiet the name was lost to the wind. 

“Louder!”

“Marius Pontmercy,” the man repeated. It must have been only then that he caught sight of his competitor, for he suddenly somehow turned a peculiar shade and averted his eyes. Cosette frowned, pushing her way through the crowd to get closer to the wrestling platform. Now that she was just a few feet from where Marius was standing, Cosette could make out a thin stream of red dripping from Marius’ face. 

“Oh, you are bleeding!” She cried out impulsively, and that was when he looked at her. 

His face was conflicted and stormy as he faced her, but as his eyes met hers his face softened. In the moment before he spoke Cosette felt her heart skip a beat once more, but this time it was not out of concern for this stranger. 

“You’re bleeding,” she repeated softly, her breath catching as she suddenly remembered what she’d come to do. As Marius drew a hand up to his face, he groaned aloud.

“The nosebleeds,” he muttered, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “They, ah, always occur at the most inopportune times.”

Cosette hurriedly withdrew a handkerchief from her skirts and passed it to him. Marius took it, pressing it to his face and murmuring his thanks. A moment later the bald man reappeared, hasty to appease the eager crowd and start the wrestling match. 

“Monsieur!” Cosette called to Marius as he began to reluctantly turn away, her heart thundering in her chest. 

He looked at her, waiting,

“Don’t fight.”

“What?” His voice had a note of seemingly permanent melancholy, endearing itself to Cosette in ways she did not understand. She decided she liked to hear him talk. 

“Do not fight,” Cosette said again, “for I see you are not evenly matched. You will surely be beaten, and -” Cosette struggled to form the words, for her tongue had suddenly gone dry - “it would pain me to see harm befall you.”

“And why is that?” Marius asked, watching her seriously.

Cosette ignored the question. “Please, heed my counsel.”

Marius straightened. “You must know, milady - I would die before conceding this fight.” Marius paused expectantly, as though waiting for the words to take effect in his own brain or for Cosette to say something, perhaps some further argument as to why he shouldn’t fight. She did not. 

“Then I will wish you luck, for I greatly believe you will need it,” Cosette said finally, trying to smile.

“Your name, milady -”

“Attention, please! We have here two competitors, a returning champion from the court of Arden, Bahorel, and a new challenger, Marius Pontmercy....”

The bald man was starting off the match. Marius cast one last look at Cosette before taking his place on the platform. 

Cosette exhaled slowly, waiting. She couldn’t wait to see what happened. She couldn’t stand by - there were hardly any rules ensuring the safety of the wrestlers, and she’d had more than one acquaintance permanently disabled after a fight with a particularly nasty opponent. She still recalled the distinct sound of one man’s bones breaking in his nose. She couldn’t stay here, waiting.

 _Waiting_. 

The words of the announcer fading away in her ears, Cosette shoved her way through the crowd and made for the castle. 

She couldn’t watch this.

* * *

_He wasn’t supposed to be here._

While the announcer talked about the competitors and the rules of the match, Marius’ heart raced as he faced his colossal opponent. How could he have been mistaken for a competitor? He wasn’t tall of stature or strong - yet here he was, about to be pummeled to death because of a mistake. Marius had tried to explain that he was only here to watch, not to wrestle, but the announcer had been so desperate to have two opponents on the platform to appease the crowd that he didn’t hear Marius’ pleas. Or, if he did, he didn’t listen.

A pair of dark and sparkling eyes flashed through Marius’ mind and he remembered the look the girl he’d just met had given him as she tried to dissuade him from fighting. Marius couldn’t help but think that if he hadn’t been attempting to put on a brave front for her, perhaps he might have gotten himself out of this mess. But the colossal mass of his opponent grew less and less formidable to Marius with each recollection of the girl’s smile. 

What was her name? What a fool he was for not asking sooner. If he survived this, he would find her and ask her properly. Her dark eyes held wisdom and depth and he wanted nothing more than to spend hours talking to her.

Hearing his name called by the announcer, Marius felt as though his heart were going to shoot straight out of his chest as he faced the other man on the platform. His opponent reached for Marius’ hand with a broad grin that almost brought the ends of his thick curled mustache to his eyes and shook it. The apparent good-naturedness of his opponent both comforted and unsettled Marius. He felt that this man, if not with his fists already up in front of his face in preparation for attack, would be the friendly sort with whom one might enjoy an ale. 

“ _Begin_!” 

* * *

Cosette was in the library, mindlessly stroking the leather-bound covers of the ancient books that had resided in the castle for centuries. Many of the books she’d read; ever since her father had brought her to the castle as a young girl, she’d been enamored with the histories of people long gone, tales of mythical creatures from lands never traversed by man, and on occasion had sat by the fire on her father’s lap to listen to the stories he told; they were by no means happy ones, but Cosette sometimes wondered why it was the sad stories she remembered most. 

“Milady!” 

Cosette turned to see Eponine hurrying over, her already wild hair falling loose from the weak ties that held it from her face. Cosette hurried over to bridge the gap between her and Eponine, entreating Eponine to tell her the matter. 

“No, nothing is wrong, milady - come, you’ll want to see for yourself.”

She must be talking of the wrestling match. What else could it be? Was Marius dead, or broken beyond repair? Had he suffered a humiliating defeat and retreated in shame? 

They hurried back to the fighting grounds, where the crowd cheered periodically. Cosette noticed it had grown much larger in the few minutes since she had taken her leave. 

“Your face is more delicate than a babe’s! How surprised was I to see you walking here, when you should have been crawling!”

The words met Cosette’s ears as she neared, and she stopped in confusion, finally having pushed her way through the crowd back to her place in front of the platform. Rather than a bloody display of broken bones, the sight that met Cosette’s eyes seemed like that of a friendly discussion between two men at a tea table.

Marius was standing on the far corner of the platform, watching Bahorel with careful enjoyment.

“Well, then -” Marius deliberated for a time before returning triumphantly - “your head is shaped like an egg!” The crowd laughed and Cosette caught a glimpse of Bahorel keeling over, his face red from laughing.

“What happened?” She whispered to Eponine, who was watching the men spar verbally with delight at each insult blazing in her eyes.

“Well, your Marius suggested they fight with their tongues rather than their fists,” Eponine said, her voice distracted as she stepped on her tiptoes to see over the head of a tall woman in the throng. 

Cosette breezed over the thought of Eponine referring to him as _her Marius_ and turned her gaze upon Marius once more in unconcealed admiration and relief. A pleased smile graced Marius’ face, and it warmed Cosette to see him suddenly so at ease.

“When does this end?” Cosette murmured to Eponine. Eponine shrugged. 

“Till tears are shed, perchance.”

The battle went on for several minutes till at last Marius delivered so ridiculous a blow to his opponent that Bahorel fell to his knees, roaring with laughter, and did not rise for some time. Marius was declared the winner, and Bahorel did not look disturbed in the least by this. Rather, he clapped Marius’ on the shoulder in hearty congratulations and ruffled his hair before jumping off the platform. 

Cosette tried not to look as though she were waiting for Marius despite it being exactly what she was doing. When he came to meet her after passing through his enthusiastic crowd of admirers, Marius looked at her with such gravity that Cosette laughed aloud at his seriousness after such an event that had just transpired.

“You fought well and bravely, Monsieur, and you were most chivalrous,” Cosette said between peals of laughter, trying to bring herself to meet Marius’ eye seriously. Marius smiled a little. 

“I am glad you thought so, milady, for truly I want nothing more than to please you.” His eyes were earnest and, if she did not think it presumptuous for her to even consider, Cosette might say admiring. For the briefest moment she felt uneasy at the speed at which fate had thrown them together. 

“Verily, you did,” Cosette said thoughtfully. At that moment, Cosette felt a hand fall upon her shoulder. She turned around to face the man who could only be the Duke Thenard she’d been searching for with dread. 

“I have it in good faith you pleased more than just this pretty little one,” Thenard said, his voice gravelly and sounding like metal scraping against rusted metal. Cosette’s blood turned cold and she began to tremble, immediately _knowing_ and ready to flee. The grip on her shoulder tightened, however, the nails digging into her skin like hooks. The voice continued to speak, and this time Cosette bowed her head and stared at the ground so that neither Marius nor the duke would see her face in distress. “You have good composure, boy, and your wit is sharp. Who is your father?” 

“Le Baron Pontmercy, Your Grace.”

 _Le Baron Pontmercy._ Cosette recalled that name being spoken on her father’s tongue with a note of affection. She’d never met the man, yet her father had had nothing but high praises in his name. The hand on her shoulder, however, tightened, and all traces of amiability disappeared from the duke’s voice, only to be replaced with cold anger. 

“That is unfortunate. I should have offered my congratulations were it not for the faults of the man who sired you.” Thenard looked at Cosette, finally releasing his claw from her shoulder, “You, back to the castle.” Cosette let out a short and bitter laugh of relief as he left. 

Marius was watching her with wide and sorrowful eyes. He opened his mouth as if to offer some word of sympathy or comfort, but he promptly closed it, withdrawing Cosette’s blood-stained handkerchief from his doublet pocket instead.

“Should I…?”

“Keep it,” Cosette said with a wry smile. “T’will be a token to remember me by.” She had little hope of meeting Marius again, that she was sure of. Marius looked about to protest, but Cosette was already being escorted away by Thenard’s guards, and she had time to do nothing more than brush her fingers against his hand before they were broken apart. 

Back in the castle, Cosette waited for the confrontation to finally come between her and the wrongfully titled Duke Thenard in one of the many sitting rooms of the castle. As Thenard walked around the room in a slow, predatory circle, Cosette pressed her nails into her palms to ground herself, to keep herself standing. It had been so many years since she’d last seen him, and the sight of his weaselly face once more before her brought back her childhood instinct to flee. At the other end of the room, with his back turned to her, Cosette recognized the tall figure from the night before, the man with the bushy sideburns and wooden stick by his side. She shivered.

“Talking to the Pontmercy boy, eh, lass?” Thenard hissed, drawing near Cosette once the door had shut, his polished aristocratic accent crumbling away in his fit of anger. “All that was yours is now mine, now - take care not to forget it.” Thenard laughed, and Cosette slowly inched away so she wouldn’t have to be near that onion-reeking breath hurling insults. “This duchy is mine to run, and if I am feeling so inclined I can make you another of the servants. I intend to make you suffer, girl, for all the years of suffering Valjean brought me.” 

Cosette was frozen in place and her mind burned. She forced herself to think of something, anything beyond the thought of the stick Thenard used to beat her with as a child, or the sound of his ogre-like wife’s furious roar when she found some chore unfinished. _Valjean._ Who was he? Surely he’d made a mistake? This had to be a mistake, all of it - how could fate be so cruel as to allow a wicked man such as Thenard to prosper in the end, and for Cosette to have to face him again, after she thought she’d left him far behind in her past? 

“What has become of my father?” She finally asked, her voice quavering as she managed to get the words out. The man at the window then turned around, revealing a face that Cosette subconsciously put a name to. _Javert._ Whatever had caused her father to leave her, it must be because of him. His name had been whispered in low tones of fear and warning throughout the years, and it had been well-established by the time she had come to live with her father in the castle that he was a man to be wary of. 

“Your father is a criminal,” Javert said, his face stony and unreadable, “and it would be in your best interest to forget him.”

“He is a good man!” Cosette cried out reflexively, caught up in a moment of frustration and passion and fear. She immediately balked at the stern gaze Javert sent her way. 

“Did he ever tell you of his true identity?”

Cosette didn’t answer. She knew his identity, he was her _father._ But she also knew that would not be enough for Javert.

“His name is Jean Valjean, and he is a thief masquerading as a duke. His fate rests in the hands of the law.”

Javert glanced at Thenard with a look of disdain, as if only then remembering that he was there. “You had best be right about this. Report everything to me,” he said, “or it’ll be your fate the law will be deciding.”

The two men left the room, and Cosette was alone in the vast room that now felt lonelier and colder than she had ever remembered it being. She remembered her father’s promise all those years ago as he’d led her away from a loud and lewd tavern, a place of violent memories and loneliness. 

_They will never hurt you again._

But here she was.

* * *

Cosette lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t the ceiling she’d fallen asleep looking at for the last ten years, the one on which her father had hand-painted little silver stars and the moon to help her sleep. It was the ceiling of the attic at the top of the castle, small and drafty and lonely. Cosette hadn’t felt so alone in years.

Swinging her legs off the dusty mattress she’d been given onto the floor, Cosette slipped on her walking boots and put on her traveling cloak. 

She wouldn’t stay here. 

She had already packed her travelling bag with the bare essentials for her journey; a few loaves of bread from the kitchens, some fruit, a spare gown, and the simple dagger and sheath her father had always had her keep by her bed at all times. Making her way down the steep staircases and through the long hallways, Cosette neared the door that led from the servants’ lodgings to a discreet back door that would open to the gardens, knowing no one would be disturbed that way. She had just opened the door and was halfway to freedom when a voice made her halt in her tracks.

“What are you doing, milady?” It was Eponine; her voice was guarded and cool, and as Cosette turned round, she could barely make out her large owl-like eyes shining in the dark. 

“Leaving.”

Eponine laughed at that, and Cosette tried to silence her in alarm. For a few seconds she was wild with the fear that Thenard’s guards, the ones who had sworn to protect her, would arrive any moment to bring her back up to the attic. 

Which was why her next words both dispelled Cosette’s anxieties and muddled her senses all the more.

“Take me with you, milady.” 

Cosette’s mouth fell open at that. “You?” She asked, not a bit bitterly. “I am sure now that your father has the dukedom, you will be more than a housemaid.”

“I will not,” Eponine argued fiercely. “And I cannot stay with him for all the reasons you cannot.” The look in Eponine’s eyes spoke volumes, and Cosette felt a twinge of anger as she realized why they shared a common enemy. Though Eponine could no doubt take care of herself, an unfamiliar wave of protectiveness washed over Cosette as she met Eponine’s gaze. 

“Let us away, then, and make haste.”

“Wait - we must show more cunning than to leave as we are, should they send the guards for us in the morning,” Eponine said, grabbing Cosette’s arm and pulling her back inside. “We must disguise ourselves.”

“In what? My old gowns will hardly do the trick, and -”

“As men,” Eponine said.

“Ah.” Cosette nodded hesitantly. “And where would we get clothes?” But she was speaking to air; Eponine had somehow already vanished into the shadows, returning a moment later with two bundles. 

“Come, let’s away to the forest first and change there. I suppose we will need new aliases, as well.”

“Very well,” Cosette said thoughtfully, “I shall be Ursus. And you?”

“Philip.”

Without another word between them, Cosette and Eponine finally left the castle in their disguises. 

* * *

Cosette and Eponine snuck through the gardens and onto the winding walking path that led to the forest, stopping every now and then to check that they weren’t being followed. With every step towards the dark silhouettes of the trees Cosette felt her pulse quicken, and nearly every instance of twigs snapping underfoot or the rustling of leaves caused her to jump. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Eponine asked, irritation thinly veiling worry in her voice. 

“No - it’s alright,” Cosette said quickly, feeling the chill of the night even under her cloak. 

“Alright, then. What is it you expect to find in the forest, milady? Why not to the next village, where you will not be recognized in this disguise?” 

“My father is somewhere in that forest,” Cosette said, staring straight ahead at the path determinedly. Her steps began to slow as they came upon the mouth of the forest, where just a few more paces would swallow them up in the thick of the bushes and creatures there that lay waiting, unknown to her. 

“What, milady?” Eponine asked exasperatedly as she stopped a few paces ahead, seeing Cosette slow down. Cosette hardly heard her.

_Fetch the water from the well, girl, or the creatures in the forest will be the least of your worries._

Cosette shuddered, remembering that cold and desperate night, lugging a bucket twice her own size as she tripped over her feet, splashing water everywhere in an attempt to escape the monsters of her imagination. Back then she’d had her father with her, guiding her through the woods like a beacon of light; with him it was impossible not to feel assured of safety.

Her father wasn’t with her now.

“Milady,” Eponine repeated, sounding less abrasive than before. “It will be safe for us there if we make haste - come daylight we can search for your father.” 

Cosette took a deep breath, meeting Eponine’s eyes, and the words unspoken gave her more reassurance than anything Eponine could have said. 

_I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my mistakes and those of my parents._

Cosette nodded, catching up to Eponine and apologetically linking her arm through hers. Eponine sighed in exaggerated irritation. “Alright, but only until we find somewhere to stay for the night.” 

Cosette murmured her thanks, more than a little pleased when Eponine’s hold tightened as they made their way into the Forest of Arden. 

* * *

“Marius, wake up - wake up!” 

Marius jolted upright in bed as a hand violently shook his shoulder. He automatically opened his mouth to cry out but a hand clamping down over his mouth silenced him. Squinting in the darkness to make out his assailant, Marius heaved a sigh of relief and moved the hand away from his mouth upon recognizing Père Mabeuf. 

Marius collapsed back in bed. 

“Marius - rise, it’s urgent, my boy.” Mabeuf impatiently wrenched Marius’ blankets away, pulling Marius up onto his feet. “It seems that your problems are far from over - Duke Thenard has ordered some of his men to kill you tonight.”

“The duke?” Marius repeated, still breaking free of that sleepy haze. “For what? That’s unlawful -”

“He is a _duke_ , Marius,” Père Mabeuf said impatiently, handing Marius his clothes to dress in and taking an old canvas sack to the kitchen of the cottage in which he had welcomed Marius after his estrangement with his grandfather. “He can get away with having a quiet and unassuming boy such as you disappear. Even your grandfather would not be suspicious until it was too late. He is staging it to seem an accident - I heard him speak of a snake in the gardens as I was collecting the marigold. Poison, I believe, poisons that even I would have no antidote for.” 

Marius nodded, finally understanding. “Where am I to go, then? I have no family, no friends -”

“To the Forest of Arden, where it is rumored Duke Ultime fled last night. Find him, Marius, and convince him to return and reclaim his dukedom. He is a kind and fair man, and to live under the Duke Thenard would be -” Mabeuf didn’t finish his sentence, instead hurriedly thrusting some dried plant stalks into the canvas bag. “I’ve supplied you with food and some medicinal herbs, should, God forbid it, some harm befall you on your journey. Duke Ultime took his noblemen with him, and they must return as well before Duke Thenard begins replacing them with his own.”

Mabeuf shepherded Marius outside through the back door, thrusting the canvas sack into his hands. Marius choked on his words as he met Mabeuf’s sad, old eyes. “Are you not coming with me?”

Mabeuf smiled gently. “I am old, Marius. I cannot run alongside you anymore. But I will be here for you when you return.” Mabeuf pulled Marius into a tight embrace which seemed to Marius to end too soon, and before another moment had passed had sent Marius on his way, stumbling into the forest in the dark. 

* * *

The sun slowly stretched its rays over the Forest of Arden, reaching the pair of young women curled up on the ground beneath the makeshift shelter of a willow tree’s branches. Cosette was the last to wake, finding Eponine gone as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. 

Surveying the area with rising levels of panic, Cosette tried to make out some familiar landmarks, and to remember how far they’d walked last night. They’d stopped in the first clearing they could find, exhausted, and had nearly fallen over from exhaustion. Now, it seemed, Cosette was alone once more.

“Do you want luncheon?” The now-familiar gravelly voice of Eponine had never been so welcome to Cosette’s ears, and she turned around to face her new travelling companion with an exclamation of relief and accusation. 

“Where have you been?”

“You have been sleeping for nearly a day, milady. Some of us are not accustomed to that luxury.”

Cosette brushed off some lingering dirt and dried leaves that were a result of her forest bed from her creased hose. “No, but you ought to have woken me up.” Seeing Eponine’s annoyed expression, Cosette quickly added, “Thank you - and you need not call me ‘milady’ anymore. What good are titles when we have already shared a bed on the forest floor?” She smiled wryly. 

Eponine’s scowl deepened but she said nothing, instead moving to reveal her own travelling sack she’d been clutching possessively since they’d left the castle. She pulled out a chunk of black bread to hand Cosette. 

“Thank you.”

“Between the both of us, our food supply should last a week, perhaps a day more. Prepare to be hungry, though,” Eponine said, giving Cosette a look. “Have you any money?”

Cosette nodded, lowering her gaze as she tore a small piece of bread from her allotted bit and tossed it in her mouth. “It should last us quite a while if we ever do go to the village - but first, my father. We must find him.”

“Yes, yes, find your father,” Eponine interrupted impatiently, dropping to the ground to rest against the willow tree, nibbling on a tiny piece of bread she’d saved for herself. “I don’t understand why you are so eager to find him. If you possess the means, why not set forth to the village and make a new life for yourself? You’re grown enough to get by, you know.”

“He’s my _father,”_ Cosette said sharply, “and the only family I have in the world. More than that, he - he saved me. He kept me safe and made me happy after living with…”

“With my family, you mean?” Eponine finished the sentence for her, staring coolly at Cosette. “You are right. Your saint of a father rescued you from my parents, but what of my siblings and I? But it was only fair, was it not? We were terrible to you.”

“No,” Cosette said, feeling trapped by Eponine’s accusations and the memories of those dark days being brought out into the light once more. “No, I assure you that is not what happened. _I_ hardly escaped your parents, and my father verily misunderstood your situation and thought you were happy and cared for with them.”

Eponine stared at the ground, absentmindedly picking at the breadcrumbs that had fallen on her chest. “Then what is it that makes your father so special?”

Cosette smiled a little as she recalled, “He educated me, read me stories and histories. He made me little dolls of straw, and sang to me at night when I couldn’t sleep. He is gentle and never raises his voice - he listens to what I have to say, though no doubt that can be tedious and I do not give him so much credit as he deserves for it, and -”

“Alright,” Eponine cut her off, rising and brushing the remaining bread crumbs from her chemise. “We must start walking again.” 

Cosette gave her reluctant agreement, trying not to let the renewal of longing for her father show. Eponine had had it far worse - what Cosette had suffered must be nothing in comparison. Guilt stabbed at Cosette for the good fortune that had come to her in the past years. She’d deserved it no more than Eponine had. She made a silent vow to repay Eponine - she had to, for all she was doing, accompanying her through the forest. Still she did not understand exactly _why_ Eponine was doing this for her.

“Oh, you _rogue!”_

Cosette and Eponine exchanged a glance, the tension and awkwardness of their conversation falling away as they turned in the direction of the source of the voice. Eponine helped Cosette stand as the last echoes of the exclamation faded in the stillness of the morning. The voice was joined by another, and though the words were now jumbled and lost to Cosette, they sounded to be ones of passionate disagreement. 

Cosette murmured, “Should we…?”

Eponine nodded. “Can you walk quietly?” At Cosette’s affirmation, Eponine took the lead and moved across the forest floor, making no sound as she trod over dried leaves that crunched under Cosette’s boots despite her great efforts to be silent. She cringed with each sound, feeling it amplified in the otherwise quiet.

Finally, Eponine stopped just before the densely packed trees broke out into a large grassy meadow. Wildflowers of varying hues of yellows, purples, and blues dotted the sloping ground, the young lush grass thick underfoot. In the middle of the picturesque scene stood a man and a woman. Both were dressed in a sort of peasant garb: the man, small in stature, was outfitted in a simple but tidy set set of trunkhose, and his jerkin could be seen lying on the ground a few feet away where he had thrown it off; the silver and blue doublet he wore contrasted greatly with the rest of his outfit. He appeared caught between dressing as one with modest means and extravagance, or perhaps as though he were desperately savoring what luxuries he had left of a former life. Cosette tried to remember if she’d ever seen him at court, but failed.

The woman, on the other hand, had no such conflict in her dress. A simple rose-colored kirtle dress made of heavy linen complemented her robust form, though she seemed to be the type who could make any garment appear masterly crafted. Clear and fair skin was complemented by a mass of golden curls, barely contained by a frayed pink ribbon. With her arms akimbo and a vicious scowl gracing her full lips, she appeared as a stern Diana spurning a lover. 

“‘Chetta, _please,”_ The man began to plead with the woman, though he maintained a cautious distance between them as if through experience. “What did I say to hurt you? You must know I would never dream of doing you injury - only, tell me what offends you so I may right my error.” 

“It is too late. You said before that you loved me, but how can that be when you fail to understand _why_ I am upset?”

“I _do_ love you, Musichetta,” the man called Joly said, a new desperation entering his voice as he gazed at Musichetta, a look of adoration crossing his face. “You are the sun to me. Let me kiss you and make things right between us once more.”

“No, your kiss would bring as much comfort as frozen water to a thirsty animal. If I am the sun, then you are the moon, Joly, for I am beginning to think we are too at odds to carry on together.”

Here was where Eponine shoved her way out of the thicket to expose herself to the bickering couple, with Cosette following behind shyly. Musichetta made an exclamation of surprise as she saw them, and with Joly’s back facing towards Cosette and Eponine, he jumped around at Musichetta’s exclamation.

“And who are _you_?” He asked, both curious and somewhat relieved at the interruption. 

This time Cosette felt a rush of bravery and answered before Eponine did, earning a scowl from her companion. She caught herself in time before she made sure to deepen her voice, remembering she must appear a man in all things. “I am Ursus, travelling with my companion, Philip. We are searching for Duke Ultime, who has recently fled Arden for these woods. Have you any tidings of his whereabouts, perchance?”

Joly shook his head with a frown, but Musichetta relaxed somewhat and after a moment of deliberation smiled widely at Cosette. “There was a white-haired gentleman in fine clothes who passed by not two nights ago, and asked if he was travelling in the right direction to the boulder circle in the middle of the forest.”

“Could you point us in that direction also?”

Musichetta frowned a little. “How should I know your intentions are good? Duke Ultime, if indeed it was him, was kind to me, and helped me mend a difficult hem for a skirt to sell. I will not betray him without further explanation.”

Cosette began to despair until Eponine cut in. “We carry a message of great importance to relay to the duke. The man that has replaced him is cruel and takes advantage of the people of Arden. We need Duke Ultime to return.”

Musichetta still seemed wary, until Cosette said softly, almost forgetting to maintain her man’s voice, “Please, Mademoiselle. Lives are dependent on it.”

With that, Musichetta nodded, though Joly behind her looked concerned. “Have you supplies for the journey? It’s quite a long way.” When Cosette and Eponine shook their heads, he smiled and said, “Well, we’ve got black bread to spare. Can hardly remember the last meal that wasn’t black bread.” Musichetta whacked him on the head and gave the travelling pair the directions and sketched a map for them as Joly disappeared a ways into the forest, returning a quarter of an hour later with a small sack that he handed to Cosette. 

As Cosette and Eponine gathered their things about them, Musichetta winked at Cosette. “If you find yourself in any trouble, gallant Ursus, please do not hesitate to call upon me.”

Eponine snorted, though as to why Cosette could not say. “Of course,” she said, hoping the gratitude she felt for Joly and Musichetta’s help was conveyed in her voice.

Musichetta’s smile widened and she linked her arm with Cosette’s baggage-laden one as Joly looked on helplessly. “You are very handsome and brave,” Musichetta said, her voice adopting a dulcet tone. She met Cosette’s eye determinedly, and winked. Cosette had the sense she was attempting to convey something very different from flirtatiousness, but struggled to understand. “I think I may be falling in love with you.”

Cosette contained a yelp and started back in surprise, almost tripping over her boots. “Why, I am flattered, but -” Musichetta’s grip tightened on Cosette’s arm, and her eyes, though calm, were pleading. Cosette wasn’t yet sure she knew what love looked like, but she didn’t think this was such a display and this thought calmed her. “I - it wouldn’t be possible for me to return any such affections as you have graciously bestowed upon me without your reconciliation with Monsieur Joly.”

Musichetta relaxed a bit, backing away and once more at ease. She pressed Cosette’s hand with gratitude, and leaned in close so that her hair brushed against Cosette’s cheek. “Thank you, milady.”

Cosette was too stunned to react at Musichetta’s words. 

_She knew?_

Musichetta turned her head a fraction of an inch, her eyes sliding to glance at Joly without giving him her full attention. The look on his face was that of a pining lover; on Musichetta’s, it was of playfulness and confidence and a bit of regret. 

“We have a deal, Ursus,” Musichetta said, flashing Cosette a smile, but her eyes never left Joly. “Did you hear that, Joly?”

Cosette swallowed, her nerves burning as she finally found herself free of Musichetta’s grasp and hurried off to rejoin Eponine, laughing to herself with relief at the strangeness of what had just passed. 

“She knew who I was,” Cosette said to Eponine as they walked. “How…?”

“Women know their kind best,” Eponine said simply. Her eyes were trained on the path ahead, and Cosette wondered what was consuming her thoughts. Whatever it was, it hardly seemed pleasant.

She decided she would sing a tune to lift Eponine’s spirits. 

“Oh, please not this _again_ -”

* * *

Marius wandered the woods, lost, afraid, and alone.

His chest felt like it was expanding, choking him, cutting off his supply of air. Above him were trees, the occasional spot of blue sky breaking through the boughs and the leaves. Around him was the unfamiliar. He’d strayed far from the forest trail in the dark without realizing it, and for the past few hours he’d been trying to remember significant landmarks to get him back to no avail. 

He couldn’t last like this alone. He’d barely survived the harsh winters of his grandfather’s affection, and the wild and untamed Forest of Arden was a whole other matter. 

At last Marius gave up and found a tree against which to sit and think. He thought about a pair of warm brown eyes looking up at him from thick lashes, a sweet, concerned voice asking him to stay, not to risk his life. He remembered the girl from the wrestling match and he smiled to himself, his worries for the moment fading. 

He didn’t even know her name. 

Marius pulled out the blood-stained handkerchief from his doublet pocket, examining it now in the light. Along one of the corners two letters were embroidered in elaborate gold and silver thread for initials: _UF._

A shiver of delight ran down Marius’ spine as he looked at the initials of his beloved’s name. What could it be? _UF, UF…_

Ursule was her name, Marius decided. “Ursule,” he said aloud, testing the sound and shape of the name on his tongue. It was sweet and thick like honey. _Ursule._ He kissed the handkerchief, inhaling its vaguely flowery scent to try to be closer to the girl he had left behind in Arden. The handkerchief had been in _her_ pocket, had touched _her_ graceful hand -

So caught up was he in this business that Marius did not notice the sound of footsteps approaching until he saw two pairs of boots stop in front of him. Mortified, he made a show of blowing his nose into the handkerchief and stuffing it back in his pocket in order to appear natural to the newcomers. 

“Good even, Monsieur, might we ask for your assistance?” The voice that had interrupted his reverie was clear and melodic, and Marius looked up at last to see two men before him in travelling garb like his own. He rose to his feet and quickly assessed the two strangers, noting that he stood several inches above them in terms of height.

“Pardon?”

“We have come in search of Duke Ultime,” said one of the strangers, the thinner one with inky dark wisps of hair falling from his cap. His voice was gravelly and impatient as he explained, “I am Philip, travelling with Ursus to bring the duke back to Arden so he may recover his duchy from Thenard.”

Marius looked at Ursus, whose light brown skin and coiled curls peeking out from his hat seemed almost familiar. When their eyes met, Marius briefly wondered whether it was a trick of his imagination that Ursus had turned ashen. 

“Might you have seen the duke pass by, Marius?” Ursus asked. Marius shook his head, then whipped his head towards Ursus and stared at him. 

“I never told you my name.” 

Ursus stared back, looking oddly enough like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s trap. His dark eyes were wide and warm and Marius almost opened his mouth to say something brave before Ursus smiled calmly.

“You are mistaken in that, Monsieur, for you told us your name after we introduced ourselves. Do you not remember?” 

And his voice was so steady and convincing that Marius found himself murmuring his embarrassed agreement. 

“As for the duke, I regret to say I have not seen him,” Marius said, pushing away the embarrassing memories of the other night’s panicked journey of crashing through the trees like a wounded deer. 

Ursus’ face fell. “Then we must keep searching,” he said to his travelling companion. Marius felt his former panic return at the thought of being left on his own again. 

“Hold,” he said, “allow me to travel with you - I have been sent to these woods on the very same mission you are on. Surely with our combined efforts we would find the duke more quickly.”

Philip scoffed at this and looked as though he had some sharp rejection at the ready, but Ursus cut him off and turned to Marius with a wide and almost shy smile. “Of course, Monsieur, if that is what you wish. We are on our way to the center of the forest, for we have received tidings of the duke’s whereabouts there.”

Marius nodded with relief, glad to be included and finally have some sense of purpose and direction. As long as he remained with these two travellers, all else would find its way of working out, he was sure.

* * *

“You must sleep elsewhere.”

Marius stared at Philip uncomprehendingly, trying to gauge whether or not he was jesting. After hours of travelling on foot together through the woods in tolerable companionship, the three of them had settled in a cozy space on the ground, very nearly comfortable once Philip and Ursus began setting down the thin blankets they carried in their sacks, and rolling their doublets and jerkins into pillows. Marius had bent down to do the same until Philip abruptly kicked his belongings out of the way. 

“But _why?”_ Marius asked, trying not to let his fear show. He couldn’t sleep alone in the woods again, he _wouldn’t_. 

“If you wish to continue travelling with us, Monsieur, you must accept these terms,” Ursus said, his voice gentler than Philip’s and his eyes more sympathetic. “You need not go far - perhaps just beyond that cropping of trees over there.” Ursus pointed out the location, some hundred yards away from Philip and Ursus’ camp. Ursus spoke again, this time more quietly and so Philip could not hear, “Would you like me to accompany you there?” 

Marius glanced at Philip, who was already settling down onto his makeshift bed by the small fire he’d built up, and quickly nodded to Ursus. Ursus surprised Marius by taking his hand and guiding him through the dark. Ursus’ hand was warm and Marius found a familiar comfort in having someone to trust and follow.

“Do you fear the dark?” Ursus asked as they made their way carefully over gnarled tree roots sprawled across the forest floor and twigs scattered from broken boughs. The question should have embarrassed Marius on the implication that he appeared afraid. But the way Ursus asked it was simple and honest and open, making Marius feel brave and unashamed to answer. 

“Perchance,” he said after a long time. “‘Tis always lonelier in the dark.”

Ursus murmured agreement. “I still fear it too, sometimes. It is easier to face the dark with someone beside you, someone you know you trust your life with; knowing their hand will be there in the dark when you reach out, even if you cannot see them. It was easier for me with -” Ursus broke off, suddenly sad, but Marius was too swept up in the truth of Ursus’ words to give this abrupt stop more than a passing thought. 

He’d never known till now how desperately he wanted a hand to hold in the dark.

* * *

Cosette’s breathing was erratic as she patted Marius’ canvas sack to fashion into a pillow, careful to hide her shaking hands. She could hardly understand how fate had thrown them together once more - she could only guess that all the planets and stars must have aligned to allow something like this.

No, Cosette reminded herself a little painfully, she was here to find her father. Nothing else could come before that. She wondered briefly what he would think of Marius, whether he would approve of that serious countenance and those troubled eyes that looked like they carried a burden as old as time itself. 

Cosette shook herself a little as she lingered over Marius’ lonely bed. She knew what her father would say, and it was that she was letting her feelings run ahead of her. She had only _really_ known Marius for fewer than six hours, and had met him just a day ago. Besides, she could hardly believe Marius would prefer courting Ursus to his Cosette. 

How could she know if her feelings were true? She had never been in love.

Was this love?

Cosette looked at Marius again, who had by now settled himself atop his blanket and pulled out a handkerchief from his doublet. It took Cosette a moment to realize it was the handkerchief she’d given him the day before, and she smiled fondly upon seeing he still kept it. 

As Ursus, Cosette said, not caring to disguise the pleased playfulness of her tone, “A token from a fair maiden, perhaps?”

Marius looked up at her guiltily, a deep scarlet blush spreading over his face as he hastily tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket. “A maiden that I am quite sure has forgotten me by now,” he said, suddenly gloomy.

Cosette covered her mouth with her hand and pretended to cough to cover up the laughter bubbling in her chest. “What has brought you to this conclusion?” She asked seriously. 

Marius looked as though whatever he was holding back was physically hurting him, and he plainly struggled to finally speak for several seconds as Cosette fought the urge to break free of her neutral expression and voice.

“I do not know how to court a maiden,” Marius burst at last, his cheeks and ears somehow even redder than before.

Cosette bit her lip, all desire to tease Marius gone now. She sat down on the ground a few feet away from where he was sitting, observing him carefully. He seemed infatuated but on the verge of defeat. Infatuated with _her,_ Cosette thought to herself with a scandalous amount of pleasure.

Then an idea took hold.

“I will help you.”

Marius looked up at her in surprise. “You?”

“I will help you win the heart of this maiden,” Cosette repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “In all humility I am what one might call _experienced_ in the ways of women. Their secret language of looks and smiles, what to say and when, what they wish to say but never have the nerve to say aloud - I will teach you.”

“Truly?” Marius was skeptical, and fumbled with the handkerchief once more, running it through his hands and between his fingers nervously. 

“Truly.”

“Thank you,” Marius said, a relieved smile appearing on his face, one so big and warm it sent Cosette’s heart aflutter. “I am eternally grateful and -” he hesitated here, but swallowed whatever qualms he had and finished solemnly, “in your debt, Ursus.” 

Cosette returned the smile. “Of course, Marius. I bid you goodnight.”

Marius nodded, less apprehensive than he was before about spending the night in his solitary corner of the woods, and Cosette began to make her way back to Eponine. 

* * *

The first lesson with Marius was very nearly a disaster.

“Pretend I am your beloved,” Cosette said, seated on the trunk of a fallen tree where the travelers had stopped for a rest. “Court me.” 

“Court you?” Marius choked, turning red and casting his eyes down. 

“Oh, fear not, no one doubts your devotion to your darling,” Eponine said languidly from a few yards away, feigning disinterest as she gnawed at a stale piece of bread. 

As Marius shuffled his feet, still too shy to speak, Cosette tried to give him aid. 

“You are late to our meeting!” She cried, turning away from Marius in a dramatic display of anger. 

Marius gaped at her back. “Am I?” He stuttered. “I didn’t think -”

“Oh, you do not think?” Cosette asked, “Why should I give my heart to a man who does not think, either for himself or for my feelings?” 

Marius inhaled slowly, and Cosette moved a fraction of an inch towards him so she could see him over her shoulder. “I was late only by a minute, my darling,” he said, the words stilted and awkward as he delivered them to Ursus. 

“A minute! A minute to one who is truly in love is no less than a century! You have not suffered, therefore you are not in love!” 

“I suffer dearly,” Marius assured her eagerly, “I fear I should die of love and despair should you reject me.”

“It is impossible to die of love,” Cosette admonished him. “If you are ever late again you will be left to your own fate.”

“What fate is that?”

“To wearing horns,” Eponine chimed in, discarding any pretense of disinterest now. She sat up, leaning forward with her elbows on her lap, watching the exchange between Cosette and Marius with great entertainment.

“Horns?” Marius asked confusedly, glancing at Eponine. Cosette sent her a warning look to stop, but Eponine went on. 

“Of a cuckold,” Eponine said with a grin. “The horns men are always blaming their wives for.” 

“My Ursule is too virtuous,” Marius said with such fervor and determination that Cosette almost felt guilty for the way she was tricking him. 

Almost. 

_Ursule?_ Cosette and Eponine exchanged a glance, and Cosette returned to Marius, trying not to let the wrenching pain in her heart show on her face. “Ursule is the name of your fair maiden?” 

Marius smiled that embarrassed smile once more, scratching the back of his head as he pulled out Cosette’s bloodied handkerchief. “Well, I assume so, at least - she never told me her name. But the initials on her handkerchief…”

Cosette looked at the initials embroidered there and could have cried for the relief she felt. _UF. Ultime Fauchelevent._ She’d given him her father’s handkerchief!

“I am your Ursule,” Cosette declared, smiling easily once more and hardly caring that Marius was calling her by the wrong name each time he thought and spoke of her. Marius appeared more relaxed now, and Eponine remarked, 

“I believe his Ursule has a prettier face than yours.”

Cosette rolled her eyes. “Come, Marius, woo me.”

Marius stumbled through several phrases of clumsy metaphors about her eyes before Cosette grew impatient and suggested a break.

“What should I do?” She asked Eponine, glancing at Marius, his head buried in his arms in a dejected position. 

Eponine grinned. 

“Nothing cruel,” Cosette said admonishingly, administering a playful swat at Eponine’s arm. 

Eponine sighed. “Of course not. I was only about to suggest that you allow him to meet the gentler side of his Ursule - much as it grieves me to say, there is a chance you are being too difficult.”

“If I am to know his true side, he must see my worst!”

“Is that your worst?” Eponine asked drily. A devilish gleam in her eyes appeared. “Let him see the best, or let him be jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Show him what it is he is missing.”

“I do not understand -”

Cosette gasped as Eponine took hold of her waist, shouting for all the forest to hear. “Oh, my dear Ursule! What shall I do when you are gone?”

“What are you doing?” Cosette hissed, flailing in Eponine’s arms as she tried to regain her balance. Eponine foresaw this and spun her around so she was trapped. Cosette was shaking too much with laughter to loose herself from Eponine’s hold. 

“If he still has qualms about wooing Ursus, let him see a little of Cosette,” Eponine whispered. She said, loudly so it reached Marius’ ears, “Won’t you accept me, darling Ursule?”

“Only on Fridays and Sundays,” Cosette replied, stifling her laughter as Eponine loosened her hold on her waist.

“And what of the rest of the week?” 

“Those too, if I find you agreeable.”

“Do you find me agreeable?”

Cosette opened her mouth to answer, but as she looked up she realized it was now Marius holding her and asking sincerely. 

Her mouth went suddenly dry, and she could hear Eponine snickering behind her. “You are tolerable.” 

“What will convince you of my love?” 

“How am I to know your feelings are true? That your love will not die when I am no longer a novelty?” Cosette began to forget that she was supposed to be Ursus, that she was growing too vulnerable and finally voicing the fears that had been in the back of her mind ever since the wrestling match. But she didn’t care. She waited for Marius’ answer with painful expectation, forgetting how she’d been mercilessly playful and teasing before and Marius wouldn’t understand why she was so serious now. 

“I will love you forever and a day, whether you accept me or not,” Marius said, and the stars must have aligned for him just then because he was neither awkward nor graceless. Just the opposite, in fact. It was only a shame he was saying it to the wrong person. Or, at least, who he thought was the wrong person. 

It was then Cosette decided to end the lesson. 

“How did I fare?” Marius asked her eagerly.

Cosette swallowed and wondered if Marius could hear her heart beating. He must, for it was pounding in her ears relentlessly. Cosette regarded him carefully, but couldn’t help a small smile. “You still have much to learn, Marius.” As he turned away and began to follow Eponine through the forest to continue the journey, Cosette added softly and for her ears only, “As do I.”

* * *

On they went; the going was rough, and Cosette worried each time Eponine opened their sack of quickly dwindling supplies that she would come up empty. They were lucky enough that Marius had brought his own small store of food, or they might have starved by now. They still had at least half a day’s journey till they reached the center of the forest, and it was growing more and more difficult to keep Marius away from the remaining food supply.

More than a week had passed now since Cosette had left life at court behind, and with every passing hour the memories of lavishness and grandiosity faded; the constant empty chatter of lords and ladies at the dinner table was replaced by the singing of birds; hours spent cooped up in her bedroom opened up to moments of holding out a hand to prevent Marius from tripping over a loose stone, or hiding a smile at some controversial remark from Eponine. 

It seemed that Cosette and Eponine were friends, if such a term could even properly label their relationship. Marius, on the other hand -

Well, Marius was another matter. Cosette smiled at his endearing sweetness, but still there was that worry and hesitation each time she let herself think about what would happen when she inevitably revealed herself as Cosette. She liked being Ursus, confident and comfortable with Marius, and she liked the way he was more open and less grave around Ursus. 

The trio’s next notable encounter was with a man whose bells announced his presence long before he came into sight. 

Cosette jumped in front of Marius and Eponine on instinct, her nerves alight as she drew her dagger from out of its sheath by her side, watching the rustling leaves and bushes warily, the loud tinkling of what must be dozens of bells somehow more menacing in that moment than a lion’s roar could have been. 

“ - _under the greenwood tree, who loves to lie with me -”_

The stranger stopped his song and halted a few feet away when he caught sight of Cosette’s dagger. Dressed in a bizarre arrangement of purple striped doublet, green jerkin, yellow hose, and a large jester’s hat that fell over half of his face, his pleasant expression only added to his comical appearance. 

“Good morrow,” he greeted cheerfully, his eyes flicking up to Cosette’s face. She thought for a moment that there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it quickly died out.

Cosette warily returned the greeting, not lowering the dagger yet. “Who are you?” 

“Who am I?” The stranger repeated, “There are many answers to that question. To some, I am a poet. To others, I am a nobleman fallen from his rank at court. Still more, I am a nuisance.” He grinned broadly and offered his hand to Cosette. “But if you ask for my name, it is Jehan Prouvaire.” 

_Nobleman from court?_ Had she seen him before? She didn’t think so, though his voice was vaguely familiar, as if she’d heard it in a dream. Would he recognize _her_?

“Would you happen to be one of Duke Ultime’s noblemen who followed him from court?”

Jehan tilted his head. “I would,” he said. “And now, if I might be so bold, who are you _?”_

Cosette quickly told Jehan of their mission, and then asked, “Do you know of the duke’s whereabouts? We must find him without delay, and our supply of food for our journey is nearly spent.”

Jehan nodded, the bells on his hat jingling loudly as he did. “Not four hours have passed since I last spoke with the duke. It is not far, the camp in which we have made a temporary home - a few hours walking, at most. I will take you, and there you may replenish your supplies and meet with the duke.”

Eponine pushed her way impatiently from behind Cosette to intercept Cosette’s acceptance. “And why should we trust you?” 

Jehan’s bells sparkled in the light and jingled again as he brought a hand to the hat. “My apologies,” he said with a gentle smile, “they can’t seem to sit still. As for whether or not you might trust me, do you not outnumber me three times over?”

Cosette and Eponine exchanged glances and looked at Marius, who till now had been quiet. Embarrassingly enough, Cosette had forgotten Marius’ presence in the intensity of the moment.

But from the sparkle in Jehan’s eyes, Cosette sensed no ill will. Outnumbering him or not, she couldn’t fathom distrusting him. 

So they followed Jehan into the heart of the Forest of Arden.

* * *

As they walked, Cosette noticed several leaves of parchment poking out from Jehan’s doublet. 

“What are those?” She asked, curiosity getting the better of her after she’d briefly considered whether it would be polite to do so. 

Jehan glanced down at the parchments and smiled, his bells silent now that he’d removed the hat after multiple snide remarks from Eponine; Cosette suspected it was rather for the sake of shutting her up than politeness. 

“Some love-struck fool has been going around the forest and carving what sounds like a pig’s attempt at poetry. I copied some down, and really, you must hear about this ‘Ursule’ he goes on and on about -”

“Or perhaps not,” Marius suddenly said, his voice strangely loud. 

All heads turned to him. 

“It was you, then?” Jehan asked, turning away just in time to conceal a snicker that Cosette did not miss. 

Marius said nothing, but Eponine laughed aloud and quickly snatched the papers from Jehan with little resistance from him. 

_“‘Ursule, Ursule, what dost thou hide in thy purse-ule? Perhaps a jewel to match thine amber eyes -”_ Eponine shrieked with laughter as she read aloud the lines, and by now Cosette had fallen to her knees, her sides aching with laughter and extreme sympathy for Marius.

“Please -” Marius said weakly and without much effort, already having given up and accustomed himself to the ridicule of those around him. Cosette’s heart softened and she was immediately sorry for his embarrassment. Jehan must have had the same idea, because he took the parchment back from Eponine.

Eponine didn’t let it go.

“I don’t much like the name Ursule,” she teased as she looked at Cosette. Marius’ blush deepend. 

“I hardly think her parents took your feelings into account when they christened her.” 

Eponine looked like she wanted to add something before Jehan cheerfully stepped in. 

“An amateur attempt at expressing love, surely, and an intriguing choice of rhyme,” he said kindly in Marius’ direction, “but the meaning behind it is all that counts. I do not doubt your devotion, though I do question your motives regarding this young lady's purse…” Jehan snuck a glance at Cosette and winked, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. 

Did he know?

There was no time to dwell on it; Jehan was already on the next topic of conversation to divert attention from Marius, who was looking at him with the utmost gratitude and relief. 

“Now, I will come with you and arrange a meeting with the duke,” Jehan was saying, “and you must wait for me to give you clearance. The duke is kind, but he is a reclusive and private man. Perhaps he may see all of you, or only one of you.”

“One of us will suffice,” Cosette assured him quickly. With a nod, Jehan led them back outside and took the lead once more. 

Cosette’s chest expanded and heat rushed to her cheeks at the thought of her father being only a few more hours of walking away. She would have so much to tell him, so much to ask him -

A few hours, that was all. 

* * *

“I will return shortly,” Jehan promised them a couple of hours later as they drew close upon a hill, near which was a small pond humming with the sounds of wildlife in the warm summer air. “Rest by the pond, if you wish; I should be but a minute.” 

With his disappearance into some thick underbrush, the weary travelers settled onto mossy boulders dappled by sunlight, which did form an odd circle by the pond as Musichetta had described. Cosette was surprised when Marius seated himself next to her, his usual careful distancing seemingly forgotten. In the comfortable silence of the evening, they watched the thin, small shadows of tadpoles flick through the watter and vividly colored dragonflies swoop over the surface. 

“The end of our journey,” Cosette said softly, a smile forming on her lips as she watched the shadows dancing over the water. 

Eponine snorted. “Yes, at last. Soon I might be sleeping on a mattress once more without your thunderous snores in my ear.” 

“I am grateful for your friendship,” Marius said, turning to Cosette with a small smile. “And for your...teachings. I only hope I better understand the female character, and may come to understand that of Ursule’s.”

“I have good faith that she will be charmed,” Cosette said warmly, meaning every word. 

Jehan returned not long after, gesturing for them to rise. “The duke will see you now, one at a time.” 

Marius rose at the same time as Cosette did, and after a second of hesitation he nodded to her and said, “Go, I will wait for you.”

With a small, anxious smile Cosette followed Jehan through the underbrush he’d passed through before. Just before they were out of sight, she looked back over her shoulder, seeing Marius and Eponine laughing about something together, which brought a warm satisfaction to Cosette’s heart. After a few paces of walking through similar territory, Jehan stepped aside to reveal a crevice between two large boulders draped with a curtain of willow fronds and ivy. Cosette slipped through the narrow entrance, the cold touch of stone pressing against her back and shoulders as she moved. Finally, the narrow corridor-like crevice widened until it opened into a small, grassy meadow. 

Tents were pitched all around and an assortment of personal belongings were strewn along the grass. A stream bubbled musically behind a partially collapsed tent to Cosette’s left, and the sound of laughter and male conversation filled the air. 

Jehan led her past the tents, slowing down at a particular one where a man donning a scarlet doublet and an outrageous moustache was seated on the ground, flashing a broad smile at Jehan. Cosette recognized Bahorel from the wrestling match. 

“We send you off to fetch firewood and you return with a man!” Bahorel exclaimed with a laugh, greeting Cosette with a wink. “Jehan, you must know the practice you are suggesting would not be appropriate in these modern times -”

“Oh hush,” Jehan said fondly as he shook his head, dragging Cosette past Bahorel. “He’s not used to such limited company,” Jehan said apologetically. 

“I saw him at the wrestling match less than a fortnight ago,” Cosette said confusedly, wondering how Bahorel could have made the long journey from court to the center of the forest alone and in such a short time. Jehan shrugged nonchalantly, but his smile suggested he was hiding something.

“Some aspects of Bahorel remain a mystery to us all, dear Ursus.”

They passed jovial and curious faces of all sorts; Cosette felt the blond man’s intense gaze on her before even seeing him, and noted the impossibly wide smile from a curly-haired dandy sitting beside his austere friend. Some of them she remembered from her time in court, and she discreetly hid her face when she passed them in hopes that they might not recognize her face. Jehan stopped at a tent that somehow had the feeling of being distinct and set apart from the others, despite being only a few yards away from the last one they’d passed. 

“Ursus is here to call upon you, Monsieur,” Jehan said as he stuck his head inside the tent before turning back to Cosette with a proud smile, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he left her in privacy with the duke. 

A face appeared at the opening of the tent, white-haired and familiar, though perhaps with several more wrinkles than Cosette remembered. “Greetings,” Duke Ultime said formally as he disappeared back into the tent. 

“Ah, give me a moment -” he struggled with the opening of his tent as his wide frame carefully navigated its way out in a way that would not cause the structure to collapse altogether. “There was a bout of wind today, and Bahorel seems to have done something to my tent -” 

The duke suddenly paused, his face as still as stone. He withdrew something from the tent and sighed, tossing a large snake onto the grass. Cosette jumped back and watched it slither away through the grass. He stretched out his muscles as he spoke, and Cosette felt a flash of worry that his old aches had returned as a result of sleeping on the ground for the last week. 

“Your Grace -”

“No titles,” her father said as he brushed a stray leaf from his shoulder. “Here we are equals. Call me Ultime.”

“I do not think I can do that,” Cosette replied, unable to conceal the halting surprise in her voice. How her Papa had _changed._

“To each their own,” he said with a smile, and then Cosette didn’t care anymore about the patchy trousers she’d never seen him wear or the raggedy beard he’d always been careful to keep closely shaved. That smile was enough to assure her that yes, this was her Papa. He had not changed. She would have revealed herself then and there had he not continued speaking.

“I suppose you’ve come to question my absence from court. But fear not, I have left Arden under my brother’s care. He may be short-tempered at times, but he is good and just. After he has passed, the Lady Cosette is set to inherit our property.”

Cosette snapped her mouth shut. If she revealed herself now, her father would never disclose these things to her. He would be doing it for her sake, she knew, because he wouldn’t want her to worry about him; but she had grown so tired of being kept in the dark. 

“And what of the Lady Cosette?” Cosette asked, careful as always to maintain the deep mask of her voice even as it rose in volume. “Have you no intention of returning to her, or to give some explanation for your absence? Do you not think she has felt great sorrow with your disappearance?”

The duke’s face grew sad, sadder than Cosette had ever seen it. “It is for her that I left - she will understand. At court, my past will follow me and do her nothing but harm. It is better that I stay away from Arden for her sake.”

Cosette shook her head, her head pounding and alight at these words. How could abandoning her benefit either of them? If only he knew what she’d undergone this week to find him -

“I can hardly believe she feels the same way, Your Gra - _Monsieur_ ,” Cosette said, “I am sure she would renounce worldly titles in a heartbeat to follow her father.”

Her father shook his head with that same look, and Cosette continued. “Duke Fauchelevent is dead. A man named Thenard has taken his place, and he is a tyrant, Monsieur. Arden needs you to return and restore peace and order.” 

The Duke’s face had undergone several changes in pallor at the news of his brother’s death and the rise of power from Thenard. “Dear God,” he murmured, “I thought I was keeping Cosette safe…”

“Cosette traveled with us, Monsieur,” Cosette hurriedly said to assure him. “We met her in the forest on our journey, and she was determined to find you. She is waiting with my travelling companions.”

The duke’s face softened. “I wish to see her, of course, I -”

“Your Grace!” 

Cosette and her father exchanged a look before turning to see who had spoken. Marius was sprinting across the meadow to the duke’s tent; the men Cosette and Jehan had passed on their way all watched him. It was as though time was moving slower than usual as Marius tripped over some roots hidden in the lush grass and sprawled forward on his face, mere inches from the duke’s own feet. 

“No need for titles…” the duke trailed off, looking at Marius with a bewildered expression. Cosette stifled an embarrassed groan. Oh, what if he should not approve of Marius? Would Marius’ clumsiness prove to be the end of their courtship?

Marius stood and straightened, his glossy black and usually neat curls falling over his eyes as he bowed to the duke. His eyes contained a look of determination, purpose, and perhaps, if one were scrutinizing, fear. 

“Monsieur, I have travelled many miles in search of you for two reasons. Arden needs you to return and end Thenard’s reign over your duchy.” Marius inhaled and started again, his words careful and slow as he finally brought his eyes up to the duke’s face. “And secondly...I would like to ask for your permission to marry your daughter, the Lady Ursule.”

“Lady Ursule?” The duke asked, confused, and Cosette was frozen as she watched the scene play out.

“I may not seem grand or noble at present, Monsieur,” Marius hurriedly said, “I am dressed poorly, as you can see, after more than a week’s travel on foot, and do not look the part of a gentleman. But I love your daughter, I assure you, and I am educated - fluent in several languages, Monsieur, and -”

“I am afraid you are mistaken, my boy,” the duke said to him with gentle awkwardness. “I have no daughter named Ursule.”

Marius stared back at him for a moment. He withdrew the handkerchief from his pocket. “But these initials…” He said weakly. 

The duke’s face lit up as he saw the handkerchief, taking it from Marius and inspecting the monogrammed corner. “Ah! So there it was! I’d been wondering what had happened to it. But what are these dark spots?”

“Blood, monsieur.”

“Blood?”

“Lady Urs - your daughter gave me this handkerchief to staunch the flow of blood from...from my nose.”

The duke inspected the handkerchief once more, an amused smile curling his lips. “It is my handkerchief, which means it was indeed my daughter _Cosette_ who passed it unto you. Ursule,” the duke murmured with a little laugh. “The idea…”

“Then what say you to my proposal?”

“Are you proposing to me now?” The Duke asked with a quirked brow. 

“I - well, yes - no, I meant - for Lady Cosette,” Marius finished lamely, appearing now like a deflated balloon as he waited for the man whose opinion meant everything to pass his judgement. 

“There is only so much I can permit regarding the sacrament of marriage,” the Duke said wryly. “I may say I approve of you, that you seem a good fellow, and thank you for bringing my daughter to me. If not quite graceful, you are honest - but it is not my opinion you seek. It is Cosette’s.” The Duke stroked his chin thoughtfully, his expression still amiable, rendering the words he spoke next all the more effective. Cosette watched as her father put a hand on Marius' shoulder and smiled. “Ultimately, my opinion matters not in Cosette’s decision of who, when, or even if she marries. But should any harm befall Cosette through your doing, it will not be my opinion you seek. It will be my mercy.”

Marius, petrified, nodded.

The duke smiled cheerfully once more. “Very well.” He turned to Cosette, who had felt herself grow pale at the exchange she had witnessed. 

“Ursus, was it?”

Cosette nodded. 

“Might you be so good as to bring my daughter to me now?” The Duke’s voice was quiet and soothing, and Cosette nodded solemnly, turning away quickly to hide her smile.

“It is done, Monsieur.”

As she moved to take her leave, the duke added, “And Ursus, rest assured you will be rewarded for helping my daughter reach me safely.”

Cosette met his eyes. “Speak no more of it, Monsieur. I only seek to ensure that Cosette is reunited with her father again.”

* * *

Ursus and Philip were no more; when Cosette rejoined Eponine, who had been left alone by Marius at the pond, she rummaged through their travelling bags and tossed Eponine her clothes. Eponine looked up. 

“Are we -”

“Our business is finished,” Cosette said, a wide smile spreading across her face as she removed her own clothes from the bag. The pair walked back into the woods, sheltering themselves behind thick undergrowth for privacy, and helped each other with the lacing of their stays and bodices. 

Making their way back to her father’s camp, Cosette took Eponine’s hand in hers and smiled at her, wordlessly thanking her for all she’d put up with over the course of the week. But Eponine did not smile. Her eyes were cast down, troubled, and she looked away when she accidentally met Cosette’s eye. 

When they were back in the camp, it seemed that everyone was celebrating. The duke’s followers were back to their cheerful merrymaking, and Cosette was amused to see even her father taking part. Cosette felt a twinge in her heart as she watched him talk to Marius and Jehan. Had she ever seen him so relaxed, so comfortable, so _happy_ at court as he was here? She knew the answer, and she realized then that things would not return to the way they had before. 

Would that be so terrible?

“Papa,” Cosette said softly, touching his arm to get his attention. Cosette’s heart thundered like the stampeding of a thousand wild horses as he turned at her voice. His eyes upon her face, Cosette let the warmth and comfort and love of his gaze wash over her and give her that same feeling it always had before, that feeling she had come to miss more than anything in the world. 

“My Cosette,” he murmured, wrapping her into an embrace that lifted her off her feet, and he spun her around till she was dizzy, dizzy with excitement and joy just as they’d been in the old days and it seemed like it would never end - 

Finally he did set her down and the moment was over, but Cosette clung to him, still slightly unsteady, and she met his eyes. 

“You have no plans to return to court.”

The duke hesitated as though he were debating whether or not to give her some false assurance, but after a moment thought better of it. “No, I do not,” he said. 

“But what of the people who suffer there under Duke Thenard?”

The duke gestured at the men sprawled around the camp. “These men are strong and young and good - they will remove Thenard from the duchy. The money and property is all mine, but I no longer have need of it.” The duke pressed a solemn kiss to Cosette’s forehead and stepped back, his hands on her shoulders as he looked at her. “It will be yours, Cosette, yours and your husband’s, if you so choose.” He glanced at Marius before turning back to Cosette. “You are not a child anymore, and it took me far too long to understand that. You do not need your father anymore.” He smiled gently at her, and Cosette shook her head, refusing to accept it. 

“No, Papa. I will not leave you to live alone in the woods for the rest of your life! Why should I take your money and live in a castle when you sleep on the ground? Keep some of your money - build a house here if you really must stay. But know that if you intend to be heroic and isolate yourself in this forest for the sole reason that I am grown up, I will not let you do it alone.”

A long moment of silence passed before Valjean replied. “I missed you, my child,” he murmured with a tired but happy smile. “We will figure these things out.”

But Cosette couldn't let this go, not yet. She remembered what the countless hours of exhaustion had all been for, and she stared at her father indignantly.

“Why did you leave to begin with?” 

Her father’s face darkened. “A man from my past appeared - looking for me, I assumed, and -”

“Did you intend to _ever_ return for me?”

“Not to court -” As Cosette opened her mouth in angry protest, her father hushed her with a smile. “I wrote a letter for you to come find me on your own. Which, I see, you did not find.”

Cosette breathed a sigh of relief, but she was not satisfied yet. “What of Javert?”

“He will leave Arden when he realizes there is nothing for him there,” her father assured her with a tight smile. “Perhaps he will take Thenard with him.”

Cosette let the sudden silence succeeding his words settle, and decided for the moment that the rest of their matters could wait to be settled and worried about, as he’d said before. 

“What will become of me?” 

The voice that spoke up was quiet, and Cosette felt guilt slice through her heart as she remembered she’d completely neglected Eponine. 

“What do you mean?”

“The Duke Thenard is my father,” Eponine said. “Am I to be cast away with him?” 

“No,” Valjean replied quickly, looking at Eponine with kind eyes. He glanced at Cosette. “I can see you have grown close with Cosette. What has happened in the past matters not. If you so wish it, you are as much of a daughter to me as Cosette is.”

Cosette waited for the scoff and the bitter, mocking remark to come flying out of Eponine’s mouth. Instead, Eponine’s eyes were full of longing and wariness and distrust. She looked at Cosette, asking silent permission. Cosette nodded, containing her smile. 

Eponine nodded. “I would like it very much, Monsieur.”

* * *

Marius was surprised to find Cosette later that evening in his search for Ursus and Philip, and while he’d stumbled to find the words with which to express all he’d felt for her in the last week, she invited him for a walk by the pond. The glow of the setting sun sent rays of warm reds and oranges and pinks streaking across the sky. 

Hardly more than a few words had passed between the two since Marius had met Cosette in the duke’s camp. Marius found himself homesick, and longed for morning to come when they would set off back to Arden. He imagined finding Père Mabeuf waiting for him in the garden as he said he would be, and introducing him to Cosette over tea and telling him of their adventures. But there were other things, or people, that he would miss as well.

“I wonder what became of Urus and Philip,” Marius murmured at last to break the silence. “They were good fellows.”

“They returned to court,” Cosette replied. “Their task here was done.”

“Still,” Marius said. “They were - they were good friends.” He knew how pathetically lonely his voice sounded, and he hated himself for it. Here was Cosette, and he was missing two men he barely knew.

Cosette took his hand in hers carefully and gave it a squeeze. “Perhaps I may be a friend to you as well?”

Marius finally looked at her and smiled. “A hand to hold in the dark,” he murmured almost inaudibly. Cosette beamed, a sparkle entering her eyes.

“Marius, I feel that I should be honest with you now and tell you the truth about Urs -”

“Good even!” The call from an unfamiliar voice coming from behind cut Cosette off, and as she and Marius turned to meet the newcomers, Marius saw Cosette blush at the sight of a woman walking on the arm of a man.

“Good even, Musichetta, Joly,” Cosette greeted the pair warmly. Joly was smiling so wide Marius almost worried his face would break. 

Joly and Musichetta exchanged pleasantries, and Musichetta said to Cosette, “I take it you have found your father?”

Cosette opened her mouth as though startled, but then sighed. “I did, thank you.”

“And the two of you…”

Musichetta was looking from Marius to Cosette, and the way that their hands were entwined. Marius hastily withdrew his hand on instinct, but found himself regretting it a moment later. 

“Enjoying the sunset, as I imagine you to be,” Cosette said with an easy smile. She suddenly took notice of something shining on Musichetta's left hand. “Is that a ring?”

Muschetta grinned, glancing fondly over her shoulder at Joly. “After you moved on with your journey, we - well, we decided to seal our fates once and for all. We spend all of our time together anyway, and bicker so much we might as well be married, so - we did.”

“And the marriage was officiated by a true priest,” Joly added. 

“It was only the _one_ time, Joly -”

“Yet it happened! To think, we were married by a toothless shepherd who might have had the plague -”

“There is no more plague!”

“We really must be going,” Cosette interrupted with an awkward smile, sharing a conspirative look with Marius indicating an escape route back to the camp. 

Musichetta and Joly stopped mid-argument, suddenly appearing embarrassed at themselves. “As do we. Fare thee well, friends.”

Just as they were beginning to part once and for all to go their separate ways, Musichetta called, 

“How nice it was to see you again, Ursus!”

Marius turned to Cosette sharply, everything at last coming together for him. “ _What_?”

“Let us talk no more of it,” Cosette said hurriedly, and Marius smiled, knowing he could wait another day to hear her side of the story. He took Cosette’s hand, and this time he did not let go.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/188265440@N03/49856491133/in/dateposted-public/)


End file.
